


A Slow Awakening

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana Le Fay, they call you. In the books, in the history yet to come. And Morgana Le Fay is never meant to be Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slow Awakening

* * *

  
**Part I**

The first boy to catch her interest is a nobleman's son named Urien.

She's only fourteen at the time, so young. Urien is two years elder and does everything Arthur doesn't: he pays her compliments, speaks to her with lines of poetry and lyrics; he lavishes her with gifts. Morgana is young enough to be intoxicated by such adoration, and so during his two-week stay at the castle, Morgana frequently finds herself accompanying Urien to the forests. But when it begins pouring one day during their outing and Morgana shares her first modest kiss with a boy, she finds it to be… unremarkable. And disappointing.

Days later, she bids Urien farewell outside the walls of their castle. She gives him a handkerchief as a token of her fondness, but they both know nothing more will come of this relationship. At least, she hopes Urien is astute enough to know that. In Morgana's experience, boys can be quite dense about certain things.

"So, the ponce finally left, eh?" A voice startles her from behind.

She turns and spots Arthur descending the steps. "Why is it that when he was merely your friend, the man was honorable and intelligent, but when he became interested in me, he suddenly became unfit for your company?"

"Taste and sensibility," Arthur offers, wryly. "The boy obviously has none."

But she sees something in his eyes, a hint of relief to see Urien gone. He _is_ jealous. "Oh, Arthur," she says with a bold smile. "You are so very obvious."

He rolls his eyes. "What nonsense are you talking about now?"

Her smile only grows. In a certain light it is a sad fact, but Arthur's jealousy brings Morgana more pleasure than anything that has happened in the last several days of Urien's company. She merely pivots on her heel, well aware that his eyes are glued to her form as she strides down to the long hall.

"Morgana!" he hollers at her retreating form. "Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong!"

But she's not; they both know it.

* * *

"Honestly, I don't understand why anyone swoons over Arthur," Gwen offers, rolling her eyes at his antics from across the field. "He's nothing but a bully."

It's not often that Gwen is so honest and blunt, but Arthur is the one subject that often forces her servant's tongue loose. She is Morgana's closest friend, but not even Gwen knows just how _much_ Morgana is coming to like Arthur. Against everyone's better judgment, especially her own. One would think she would be smarter than this.

"Well, I guess you're the only woman in the entire kingdom immune to his charms," Morgana offers with a smile. "I'll have to employ your judgment from time to time."

Late that night, Morgana awakes abruptly from slumber, a scream piercing her throat. A vision clouds her head, forcing a sob. She dreams of something: a woman wearing red and another wearing blue. Both are obscure figures, nothing more than vague female shapes. They both stand over an open grave, and inside is the only figure she recognizes.

This is Arthur's grave.

* * *

Then, a man arrives. A boy really, but he will change everything forever.

His name, of course, is Merlin.

* * *

"Merlin!" She hears Gwen laugh, rounding the corner. "Merlin, you're going to drop it!"

The _it_ in question turns out to be a knight's helmet, a new one, if Morgana is not mistaken. Merlin carries it precariously amongst a comical amount of weaponry and armory, and Gwen rushes towards him to help lighten the load.

"My father spent the past fortnight forging this," Gwen chides in a kind voice. "You're going to damage them before they even make it to Arthur."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "He's got such a thick head, I doubt he'd need the helmet anyway."

Something slides off the top of Merlin's pile, slipping to the floor. Before either Merlin or Gwen can reach for it, Morgana appears and stretches out a hand. With a rustle of metal, Morgana draws up the chainmail armor, consisting of tens of thousands of interlocking rings woven painstakingly by hand. It always amazes Morgana just how many work goes into protecting Arthur for one of his games: his jousting shield, his steel gorget, the gauntlets and the chest plates.

"Ah, thank you, My Lady," Merlin mutters in embarrassment. He looks rather like an overloaded carthorse. "Don't suppose you could, um—"

"Here," she says, saving him some trouble as she removes a few more items.

They divide the armor amongst the three of them, and walk down the hallways side-by-side-by-side. She gets passing looks from a few people along the way; it is not often that the king's ward is seen doing anything that a servant would do, and that rankles her pride a little, to be so bound by her stature and place.

Her place.

The thought leaves her sober as Gwen and Merlin trade laughs beside her. She glances aside and though it's strange, she feels envious of them. Envious of servants. Every so often she feels as if Uther, for all his good intentions, has essentially created a cage for her. A pretty one, and though she knows she shouldn't complain because she's gifted with so many luxuries, Morgana longs for the day when she will rule her own life the way she wants, not the way anyone else dictates.

"My Lady?" Merlin calls.

She realizes they've arrived at their destination and Gwen has already slipped into the other room. Feeling slightly foolish for letting her mind wander so transparently, Morgana quickly deposits the items onto the table and turns to leave.

"Morgana," Merlin stops her again, surprising her by the use of a first name. "Is everything all right?"

She can't name the impetus that almost compels her to speak honestly. There's something within Merlin, she can't recognize what, but he seems like a kind soul or a kindred spirit or… _something_. There is a flash of familiarity, but the moment passes before Morgana can truly put a name to it.

"I'm fine, Merlin," she lies. "Just tired."

Merlin nods. "Or… bored? I'm free for the next few hours. Would you like to…"

"What?"

He thinks for a moment, and then decides, "Play chess?"

The game ends up lasting nearly three hours. Dusk falls. It's surprisingly well matched, her skillful maneuvers countered swiftly by his. Morgana has been playing chess against Arthur practically all her life, and has very rarely lost. With Merlin, it's different. She can't anticipate Merlin's strategy when Arthur usually leaves himself so exposed. It's in those late hours that Morgana begins to realize there's more to Merlin than meets the eye. He hides a brilliant mind behind his sweet demeanor.

"Checkmate," Merlin declares.

This is the first of many games they will play, but not all of them will be as innocuous as chess.

* * *

"Let this serve as a lesson to all of you," Uther proclaims, standing at the edge of the balcony overlooking the town square. "This man stands guilty of conspiracy of sorcery, enchantments and magic. And pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I have decreed that such practices are banned on the penalty of death."

"This must end," Morgana whispers.

"It will," Gwen replies. "One day."

Morgana's eyes steel as a young man, no older than either of them, approaches the hangman's noose. "One day soon," she promises to herself.

* * *

In the next year, many things happen. Morgana grows: in power, in sight, in the clear awareness of her surroundings. It all starts when a Druid boy is sentenced to death. Uther's reign has always been unsettling, but there's a cruelty in it that she can no longer disregard. The thought of letting the boy die makes Morgana feel ill, and something in her responds. Something strong and possessive. Something she has never yet known, but cannot deny.

Then, things progress even further when weeks later she almost sentences Uther to die by the hand of an assassin near her father's grave. It all happens so quickly, so swiftly, but her path has always been steep and treacherous. The day after, she walks across a meadow field by herself along the outskirts of Camelot.

The power within her, and more importantly the will to craft it, will steadily reveal itself over many months, many years. But on that day, all by her lonesome self, Morgana is only assured of one thing. She is in a unique position of influence and power. She is destined for something; she knows it. Morgana bows her head and prays for guidance… but it's like a prayer to the wind; its destination unknown.

Across the field, she hears a distant voice. _Morgana Le Fay,_ it calls to her in a whisper. _Your people need you._

And then there's dead silence.

* * *

"This is just the beginning," she warns Merlin.

Oh, how right she had been.

Arthur tosses and turns in a restless slumber, burning with a fever that leaves his body tangled in sweaty sheets. When Gwen leaves his side for but a moment, Morgana quietly slips into his bedchambers and watches him from a distance. He lies before her, half naked and defenseless, and all she can see is her vision. His death. Tears well in her eyes, and the overwhelming knowledge that she could have prevented this leaves her paralyzed with guilt.

She reaches for the damp towel on his bedside table, and wrings it out over the dish of water. Pressing a cool side to his forehead, she keeps silent. Her gaze travels over his body, usually the embodiment of health and strength. The sweat on his chest glistens in the dim candlelight, and she hates seeing him like this. Where is her arrogant champion?

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Uther's voice comes from behind her. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Morgana."

Startled, she looks back and then quickly schools her features. "I had not seen you there."

Uther looks pale and fragile, far older than he had appeared not three days prior. He is a great many number of things, including cruel in his reign, but Morgana has never doubted his love for Arthur. Still, this same man would have her burned alive on a pyre if he knew...

Every move she makes in his presence must be calculated and measured. She has no other choice.

Morgana rises. "You should rest. You look pale."

"My son is dying. How else should I look?"

She watches him approach Arthur, and this is too much. Too much heartbreak. She cannot stand the grief on Uther's face as he watches over his dying son. Morgana could have stopped this; she should have. Tears prickle her eyes, and she steps back, escaping the room without Uther noticing. His attention is on other things.

As she strides down the long hall, Morgana lifts her head and resolves herself to something. She is not going to hide from this gift anymore – these visions. Denying them has done nothing but bring her nightmares to life. Morgana is tired of being a messenger ignored by all, including herself.

That will be the case no more.

* * *

That night, she has another vision.

"You should not have killed my friend!"

There is lightning, and rain, and a woman turns to pure light and screams. Just before everything vanishes and fades to darkness, Morgana _sees._ She sees a figure, standing tall and glorious. She sees strength, magic, and power. So much power. It blinds her like the rising of the sun.

She sees _Merlin._

* * *

  
**Part II**

"What is it?" Arthur asks, giving her a look as she quietly watches him move about his bedchamber. "You have done nothing but stare at me since I woke up. I know you are enamored of me, Morgana, but a lady should be a little more discreet, don't you think?"

Arrogant git.

Annoyingly enough, she still wants to kiss him senseless.

The impulse overwhelms her, even as they trade barbs and tease each other in a relentless pursuit to reestablish normality. As if he had not been bedridden a day prior; as if she was not harboring a secret now that burned her up inside. It's more than a miracle that Arthur is healthy, and she knows, contrary to Gaius' claims, that no medicine is to thank for it.

"I have to change," he says. She lifts an eyebrow, and his ears go red. "Which means you have to leave."

She smirks as she rises, and she cannot stop herself from reaching out to touch him. His arm is solid and strong beneath her open palm, and she thinks that is how it should always be. The image of him pale and weak, bedridden, still haunts her.

Her voice goes soft, almost despite herself. "I'm glad you're all right, Arthur."

It looks like he doesn't know what to do with that, with her, with this exposed vulnerability. Arthur and Morgana have always fought like squabbling children, denying to each other any sense of attraction with every breath when she thinks it's fairly obvious even to a blind man. They are such children sometimes, and Morgana is tired of that.

She is not a little girl anymore, and Arthur is certainly no boy.

She stretches up on tippy-toes to press a kiss to his lips, a soft sip that quickly gives way to something slightly more demanding. Arthur's lips are dry and cracked, but he tastes so sweet. So warm. She senses the surprise too, but no hesitation. Morgana thinks, _yes, this is it._ This is the emotion missing from her first kiss. Exhilaration surges through her, and she draws a sound from Arthur when she pulls away.

"Goodnight," she offers, before she leaves without another pause.

Arthur just stares after her.

* * *

She spots Merlin coming down the other corridor. They share a look and he slows down to greet her, a simple smile on his face. But Morgana can recognize the power in him now; how had she missed it before? There is such strength in him, and it sings to her like Mordred did. Magic.

That should probably scare her.

"Morgana," he greets cheerfully, a tray full of Arthur's food in his hands. "Did you just come from Arthur's?"

She nods, a glint in her eyes. "Yes. I believe he's doing much better now."

They make idle conversation in the hallway when all she wants to do is tell him that she knows, that she _understands_. Except Morgana doesn't want to alarm him. A secret such as his is a death sentence. She doesn't know how he's managed to hide such power from everyone, but she isn't going to expose him. Merlin is a good man; she values his friendship too much for that.

"Merlin," she says. "Thank you."

"For what?"

_For saving Arthur's life_, she wants to say. "For being a good friend."

* * *

When spring rolls around, Morgana, Uther and Arthur visit the large market at the edge of town. Merlin and Gwen follow behind them, carrying heaps of purchases as Uther spends a lavish amount to prepare for a banquet in honor of Morgana's 18th birthday.

"I don't know why I have to be here for this," Arthur complains, kicking a rock loose from the ground and sending it careening into a patch of grassland ahead of them. "Gwen has my measurements. I'm sure you ladies could have done the incessant shopping for my clothes. It's not like you have anything better to do."

Morgana feigns a sweet smile. "You aren't afraid we'd dress you up like the village idiot? You know, to look your part."

Arthur narrows his eyes. "And honestly, you have enough dresses already to clothe half the women in Camelot. What else do you need?"

"Jewelry," Morgana replies swiftly. "Oh, and undergarments."

Arthur's remarks stall for a full two seconds, and she looks over to discover him lost in thought. When she catches his eyes, his face flushes and he glances away. They have not spoken of their shared kiss since it happened, almost as if in agreement that it was a one-time mistake and nothing more. But Arthur has been different around her. His snide remarks are less caustic, and he watches her when he thinks she isn't looking.

"Morgana!" Gwen calls from down the pathway. "I've found the perfect material for your dress!"

Without a word, she escapes to join Gwen in a small shop at the end of the market, looking through racks of rick silks and satins imported from the far reaches of the kingdom. Gwen has impeccable taste in clothing, so it's not surprising that Morgana lets her select the final piece.

But there, an old blind lady stops her. "You," she whispers, pointing to Morgana.

"What?" Gwen asks for her.

Morgana hears the old woman's voice in her head. _You have power._

Alarmed, and thrown off guard for a moment, Morgana glances down to recover her composure. She slants a glance aside, towards Uther and Arthur standing in the middle of the street, and her heart beats erratically.

Morgana lifts her eyes to Gwen. "Could you take this cloth to Arthur and ask him his opinion?"

Gwen raises an eyebrow, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Morgana offers a smile. "It'll give him something to do."

Gwen rolls her eyes, but does as she is bid. When Morgana is alone with the old woman, she steps forward urgently. "Who are you?"

The blind woman shakes her head. "It does not matter. I have been waiting for you to arrive."

She quickly pulls Morgana's hand forward and deposits a small book. On the aged cover, there's a Druid symbol carved on the leather-worn material. Morgana quickly realizes it to be a spell book, one heavily used. When she looks up startled for the old women again, there's no one in sight. She's vanished into thin air.

"Morgana?" Gwen says with a sigh as she returns. "Arthur says he would rather see you in a potato sack."

Slipping the book under her cloak, Morgana is so lost in thought that she does not respond.

* * *

"To my ward," Uther toasts at her birthday celebration, in front of everyone. "I could not love you more if you were my own flesh and blood. May all your aspirations and dreams come to pass, and if you desire anything within my power to give, you have just to ask."

Morgana stands in the center of the crowd, a gracious smile fixed on her lips.

"To Morgana," Uther finishes. "Camelot will never forget you."

That much is fated.

Her powers of sight are just the beginning, and soon, slowly, Morgana will discover more abilities. The power to move things with her mind, the ability to wield Latin incantations – there is so much magic within her. She must be cautious, though. Like a thief invited into the house from which she will steal, Morgana treads carefully.

"We found another sorcerer in the village," Uther announces during the same dinner. "There will be a hanging by the week's end."

Morgana keeps quiet.

* * *

In the dead of winter, the Beast of Bodmin attacks the people of Camelot.

Several sightings of this phantom wild cat have been spotted near mutilated livestock and three slain peasants. Arthur and his knights are dispatched to deal with it, but Morgana knows that no mortal weapon will eradicate this evil. She knows this because she found it in her spell book; the one the old woman from the marketplace had given her.

She waits to see if Merlin will do something, as she's come to realize over these many months that he is Camelot's silent savior. But the days grow long. Eventually, she seeks Merlin out and finds him with Gaius.

"It is an unknown beast," Gaius explains. "I do not think we will have much success in killing it before it kills more of us."

"Arthur can handle it," Merlin insists.

She slants a glance towards him, and uncertainty dawns on her. Are they not aware that the creature is the Beast of Bodmin? It can only be killed with a Latin incantation that is three sentences long and a common stone called Terrelus. Arthur can do nothing in this matter; magic is required.

Her words stall as she anxiously deliberates her options. Should she tell Gaius and Merlin what she knows? They'll ask questions, and she'll be forced to reveal the spell book in her possession. Surely she can trust them? Merlin is like her, and he's proven himself kind and faithful time and again.

Morgana opens her mouth, and the side doors abruptly clang open. Two knights rush in, carrying a third wounded in between. For a brief terrifying second, Morgana thinks it to be Arthur. She only breathes again when a moment later the young prince comes striding through the door, dirt-covered and soaked with sweat.

"Mondavi," Arthur explains. "The creature got to him before I could chase it away. Can you help him, Gaius?"

"It will take work," Gaius exclaims, "Merlin, quickly, get me my things!"

In the rush of excitement, Morgana slips free from the crowd unnoticed. There is a bitter taste in the back of her throat, and she takes a steadying breath as she wanders down the hall, still recovering from the shock of seeing that man's flesh torn open. It could have so easily been Arthur. Merlin and Gaius will be too preoccupied with tending to the man's wounds, and Morgana furiously debates with herself as she arrives at her bedchambers.

She rushes forward, throwing back the rug near her sitting table and pries loose the floorboards. It reveals her spell book.

Morgana will do something about this creature if no one else can.

Later that night, she packs a bag with a spare change of clothes, the Terrelus stone and her spell book. She dresses as a servant. Just before Gwen arrives, she escapes down the hallway and towards the back egress. The night is dark, and Uther has placed an early curfew. There is not a single person out on the streets save the castle guards, and they are surprisingly easy to avoid.

Morgana mounts her horse and takes the reins. "Go," she whispers. "Quickly."

* * *

The light from her torch guides Morgana through the dark and eerily silent forest. The thick snow and cumbersome trail make it difficult to maneuver, and not for the first time, Morgana regrets dressing as a female servant. Trousers would have been preferable.

She stops at the center of a clearing, eyes sweeping over the length of the forest and then back towards from where she came. It's been several hours of fruitless searching, and Morgana suspects that the Beast of Bodmin will not reveal itself tonight. With a lengthy sigh, she makes reluctant plans to turn back.

That is when she hears it, the heavy crunch of footsteps on snow. Her awareness narrows, honing in on the sound behind her, and she goes still. Any sudden movement may elicit an immediate attack, so Morgana turns slowly. She finds a dark feline before her, one like she's never seen before. Black, with a thick fur, and two horns on its head. The beast snarls at her, and its eyes grow red in the darkness.

Then, suddenly, another beast reveals itself at her side, and another behind her. Quickly, with growing alarm, Morgana realizes that she has just walked into an unexpected development: a pack. Rumors in Camelot had only ever mentioned _one_.

Snarling with low growls, they circle around Morgana.

_"Descendo Amano Levatius,"_ she whispers in a faint voice, raising the Terrelus stone with a trembling hand. _"Amano Levan. Amano Levan!"_ A blue ray strikes out against one beast. Another rushes forward. She falls to the snow and a claw rips across her arm. She screams and scrambles back on all fours. _"Descendo Amano Leva—"_

The stone is knocked loose, flying into the air far from her reach.

Lying flat on her back, defenseless, Morgana stares at the remaining beasts. The one at her side licks its wounds and snarls. Morgana thinks briefly, _so this is how it ends?_ Instinctively she sweeps her gaze about the forest, looking for help. Foolishly she wishes for Arthur or Merlin, but she is alone. Entirely alone.

Somehow, that seems fitting.

The thought sobers her panic, stills her fear. Like a swelling tide, she feels a strange calmness overcome her. _No_, she thinks with a cold fury. _I need no one's protection._ One beast leaps into the air and Morgana stretches out a hand. A flash of lightning strikes out, and thunder rolls as a storm builds. The beasts attack, but Morgana yields entirely to something inside of her. A source of power that knows no limits, knows no boundaries.

Soon, the beasts begin to whimper.

Then, one by one they die.

* * *

  
**Part III**

By the time she makes it back to the castle, she wonders if news of her absence has spread yet. She ties a strong bandage across the slash wounds on her forearm, and covers it up with one of her long-sleeved dresses. She slips back through the gates of the castle unnoticed, and is nearly to her bedchambers when she hears her name called out.

Arthur is behind her. "Morgana, where have you been?" he demands. "Gwen said you were not in your bedchambers tonight."

She tries for nonchalance. "Don't be so paranoid, Arthur. I'm fine."

"We have a curfew in place!" he barks. "You defied Uther's edict."

"I just went for a walk."

"It's nearly dawn."

She goads him with a biting smile. "It was a long walk."

His eyes flash with anger, and she wonders if this time she's gone too far, used the strategy of bickering to cover up her secrets one too many times. It usually works. Arthur is normally easy for her to distract, but this time he looks a bit angrier than normal. He sometimes gets that way when safety is concerned.

He grabs her by the arm; thankfully the good one. "Where were you?"

She doesn't take well to being manhandled. "Out."

He releases a groan of frustration. "There is something out there killing people, and you, you insufferable spoiled little gir—"

"Your concern is heartwarming," she cuts in, wrenching her arm free. "But I am fine."

She strides back the remaining feet to her bedchamber and opens the door. Arthur follows her, storming in with his temper the better of him. He slams the door shut, and Morgana wonders if the entire Castle is awoken by that bang. She drops her bag to the floor, near her cupboard, and quickly walks away praying he won't pay it any special attention. She strides to her wardrobe and opens it up, inspecting it as if picking out her new attire for the day is more important than Arthur's presence.

He looks furious at being ignored. "I demand an answer to my question."

"You received your answer, My Lord."

"Morgana, I'm serious."

"Yes, I can tell by that stern and constipated look upon your face."

Then suddenly she's whirled around and backed up against the wall. He pins her there, an arm braced across her chest. The use of force surprises her. Arthur has never used this advantage over her, not even when they used to spar as children. He always let her win, not purposely – she knew he just couldn't bring himself to use his full strength against her. Eventually, she came to realize how much that cost him, especially as she teased him mercilessly about beating him at his own sport.

Face flushed, she sends him a seething glare. "What are you doing, Arthur?"

"Answer questions to my satisfaction, and then I'll release you."

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I do not feel like appeasing your _satisfaction_ tonight."

He eases off, just a bit. A dark shadow falls on his face. "Is that-were you… were you with someone tonight? A man?"

"What?" She's so thrown by the question that she doesn't even think to lie for the easy alibi. "No! Arthur, you fool, there was no man."

He pauses, searching her face. After a moment, he lets her go and nods. "Good."

"Good?" she repeats, incredulous, still flustered and agitated. "What do you mean by good, you arrogant git—"

He cuts her off. Cupping the back of her neck, he roughly drags her to his mouth and kisses her. The unanticipated move floods her with warring emotions. She doesn't want to respond to it; thinks their fight has made her agitated and disagreeable, to say the least. But his hands thread through her hair, his tongue in her mouth, and the sensations overrule her all too easily. The kiss is so brutally intense and insistent, and a slight moan escapes her lips.

He finally pulls back, breathing heavily, and the desire is starkly apparent in his eyes. Distantly, she realizes that she has dreamt of making Arthur this wild, this wanton, and the proof before her now makes her grow reckless. They stare for a long beat, assessing one another for any hesitation or rejection. Yet they find none, and then they're kissing again, desperately.

His broad shoulders and arms are solid beneath her grip as he pushes her up against the wall. Hard muscles straining against her, deliciously warm breath on her mouth, hot and suffocating. She thinks this is nothing like their first kiss, but yet it's still darkly familiar. They've always been like this, warring and fighting, with words if not with their bodies. Now, they've just moved it to _this_. Pure desire surges through her, tension and want coiling tight in her body. Low in her body.

The door opens, and there is an exclaimed utterance of "Oh!"

They pull themselves apart to discover Gwen and Merlin standing in her doorway.

* * *

"It's astonishing," Merlin says the following evening, slanting Morgana a curious look across the chessboard. "Arthur's men found three of those creatures slain out in the eastern woods. Gaius was able to identify their bodies."

"Was he?"

"Beast of Bodmin," he tells her, taking her bishop with his queen. "Apparently, only a sorcerer can kill it."

Her gaze stays affixed upon the chess pieces, not even a flicker of emotion to betray her. Then she looks up to study Merlin in the dim candlelight of her room. For such a powerful man with such a large secret, Merlin does not do subtlety well. He's trying to goad Morgana into a reaction, but if she could be so easily rattled, there is no way she could have survived Uther's far harsher scrutiny all these months.

She plays curious. "Has Gaius told Uther of the sorcerer?"

"Only Arthur."

Morgana pauses, then keeps her voice steady. "What did he have to say about it?"

Merlin smiles, teasingly. "Haven't spoken to him lately?"

It isn't often that Morgana becomes flustered, but the urge in that moment is overwhelming. She drops her gaze to the chessboard again. It's bad enough that Gwen has taken to tormenting her mercilessly since last night's incident; she doesn't think she can handle Merlin on top of it. She expels a harsh breath, and moves her pawn into position quietly.

After a few moments, Merlin asks gently, "How did you hurt your arm?"

"What?"

"Your arm. I noticed you've been cradling it awkwardly all day."

"It's nothing." She shakes her head. "I was wielding my sword early this morning and had an accident."

Merlin pauses, licking his lips. It's obvious he wants to say something, perhaps even confront her on the web of lies she's been weaving in order to cover up her activities the previous night. She managed to dissuade Arthur from asking more questions, but she highly doubts the same methods of persuasion will work on Merlin.

"I'm here, you know," Merlin says, shifting a piece on the chessboard. "If you ever need to talk to someone. Confide in someone. About anything."

There's a hint of that hidden intelligence shining in his eyes. Once upon a time, given this opening she would have readily confessed to Merlin, and they might have even shared in each other's secrets. But some nebulous opportune time has come and gone, and the window for such disclosures has passed her by.

She moves her knight, and kindly declares, "Checkmate."

If she can help it, she won't tell her secret to a soul.

* * *

Except one by one, they all find out anyway.

Gwen walks in on her once. It happens during a simple levitation spell, but it's a heavy object and Morgana has all her attention on it and not the door. Morgana drifts the weighty piece of furniture from one end of the room to the other, and as she's turning, her gaze collides directly with Gwen. Her servant stands there, eyes wide, a stunned look on her face as if she's seeing Morgana for the first time.

Morgana abruptly drops the chest with a heavy thud. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Morgana tries vainly to come up with some excuse that would explain away everything. It's futile, though. She's been caught red-handed.

Damn this. She did not want Gwen involved at all.

"I knew it," Gwen breathes in a faint whisper, a trembling hand flying to her mouth. "I always knew it, but I prayed you'd wouldn't be so foolish. Morgana, what are you thinking?"

Though expected, the reprimand still stings. "I am not being foolish."

"You are doing sorcery in the house of Uther Pendragon! What else would you call that?"

Morgana flinches and turns away, striding to the other end of the room. There's no denying the wisdom in Gwen's warning. Uther has escalated his campaign against magic lately, and in the previous three months, there have been half a dozen hangings. She knows Uther better than anyone, perhaps even better than Arthur. He will not spare Morgana's life if she is discovered, not even for the promise he made to her father.

"How much magic have you learned?" Gwen asks cautiously, sight falling to the open spell book in Morgana's hands. "How much have you—"

"Would the degree make a difference at my sentencing?" she asks in a soft voice, closing the binding and tucking the book under her arm. "But don't worry, I don't plan on being caught."

"No one plans on being caught!" Gwen insists harshly, voice filled with fear. "Morgana, if anyone ever… does anyone already know? Arthur?"

She whirls to Gwen. "No! And it needs to remain that way."

"Are you afraid he would turn you in?"

There's a lengthy pause. "No," Morgana admits in a soft voice, vulnerability peaking through. "I'm afraid of how he would look at me. The same way you're looking at me right now."

Gwen shakes her head and quickly rushes forward. "I am not afraid of you, my lady. I am afraid _for_ you. If anything ever happened to you—"

Morgana raises a hand. "There is no stopping what's to come, Gwen. I fear that fate has something in store for all of us."

* * *

  
**Part IV**

Over the next few months, Morgana's relationship with Arthur begins to evolve.

On the day before the Annual Games, an array of competitions including archery, jousting and sword fighting, Morgana and Arthur wander up to one the grassy knolls on the outskirts of town. There is an air of expectation hanging between them. The Games are more important than all of Arthur's other matches combined, and Camelot expects nothing short of an astounding performance from its favored prince. Her intention is to have a relaxing picnic, but somewhere between spreading the blanket and laying out the food, they get... _distracted._

"Arthur," she says softly, slightly breathless. "We should really stop."

Settled heavily on top of her, kissing his way up the column of her collarbone to her jaw, Arthur mutters in a low voice, "Why in God's name would we want to do that?"

He stretches to kiss her heatedly, taking over her mouth with a skill that might have had other women suffering from a fainting spell. He's courted more than a few ladies of the court previously, two of which she's almost sure he's bedded, but his exploits prove him to be more experienced than she was previously led to believe.

The last few months have been just like this – their normal bickering and fighting interrupted frequently with heated embraces. They're not courting each other; he's _not_ her suitor. At least, not formally. Merlin and Gwen have both been drawn in to keep things quiet (and Merlin has managed to get himself sentenced to the stocks only twice – an improvement). But one of these days, she fears they'll set the castle on fire with gossip by being caught in a broom closet with one another. Uther has no idea what's going on between them, and Morgana would prefer to keep it that way.

Truthfully, _no one_ has any idea what's going on between Morgana and Arthur. That includes Morgana and Arthur.

"Wait, Arthur," she protests between kisses, her lips swollen red. "Slow down. Slow down. We need to talk."

He groans in frustration as he pulls back. "_Talk_? Why would we do that now that we have something far better to do with your mouth?"

She shoves him back harshly, and prods him off her with a glare. "I'm serious, Arthur."

He rolls his eyes as settles beside her, stretched across the blanket and their food resting forgotten near his feet. She sits up and fixes the folds of her dress, taking a moment to regain composure. Clouds form above their heads, the air crisp and cool, and Morgana thinks a storm may be approaching.

"What are we doing here?" she asks.

He gives a casual one-shoulder shrug. "A picnic."

"That isn't what I'm talking about, and you know it."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're ever talking about," Arthur protests. "Now is no different."

She sighs heavily in frustration, running fingers through her hair so it isn't in such disarray. Her face is flushed, and the back of Arthur's shirt has grass stains on it. With the way they've been acting lately, she starting to feel foolish. This isn't behavior becoming of the future king, and it certainly isn't behavior becoming of Morgana.

"This can't continue on like this," she insists, and Arthur sits up. "This is ridiculous behavior for the two of us, and—"

"What's ridiculous about it?" Arthur asks, incredulous. "We aren't doing anything that men and women haven't been doing since the beginning of time."

"Somehow, I suspect that Uther would have something to say about that statement."

Arthur grows sober at the mention of his father, and he looks ahead, hooking arms around his knees. They sit side-by-side for a few moments, staring off into the horizon of Camelot. Morgana suddenly wishes she hadn't brought any of it up at all. There aren't many moments where she can be completely untroubled and relaxed around another person, and these spare moments with Arthur have recently provided her with a much-cherished reprieve from the other constant headaches in her life.

With Arthur, things are simple. She never feels like she's hiding anything from him, even when she clearly is. It's a paradox, but then again, so is this relationship. How else could she explain her infatuation with a man that provokes so much of her ire?

But Arthur now has that look in his eyes; the one he gets when he's Prince Of Camelot, bowed by the weight of his responsibilities. He always looks older when he assumes that role, so unlike the normal stubborn man she contends with on a daily basis. Morgana wonders if he's noticed yet that she almost never argues with him when he gets like this.

"If we tell my father about us, he'll want to make it formal."

She nods slowly. "Yes, I suspect he would."

Arthur looks over at her, expression for once naked and exposed. "Do you want to make it formal, then?"

It feels as if all the air has rushed out of her lungs. Making their relationship formal in the eyes of the people of Camelot would mean only one thing: Morgana would be primed for Queen. And Uther… Uther, for all his faults, has always loved Morgana like his daughter. He would only encourage such a union, and there would be absolutely no going back from that.

She stays silent for too long, and Arthur looks away, the bite of rejection darkening his face. Before she can say anything, Arthur rises and offers a stiff smile. "It doesn't matter, I suppose," he says, calm and collected in the blink of an eye. "This is nothing more than ridiculous behavior, right?"

"Arthur," she protests, because they've just backtracked.

He shakes his head and looks away, then curses. "The horses," he says.

"What?"

"The horses," he repeats. "We forgot to tie them. Wait here, I'll go retrieve them."

Before she can protest, he's stride away towards the edge of the field, towards the forest. His posture looks stiff and angry, and she can't find the words to call him back. It's probably for the best; she still has no idea what answer she would give him.

_Does_ she want to make this relationship formal?

* * *

His search for the horses grows long, and at some point, Morgana falls asleep. She dreams of rain, of dirt, of a coffin covered in red rose petals. There's a flash of lightning, and she sees Arthur fighting another man in battle. His match. The swords clash, and there's a streak of blood.

Morgana awakes with a gut-wrenching scream.

"Morgana!" Arthur calls from a distance, and rushes towards her.

Her hands are trembling, tears in her eyes, and when she sees Arthur first thing upon waking, she can't control herself. Launching herself into his arms, she sobs about her dream, about his death, and the words tumble out without thought or deliberation. He tries to soothe her down with mindless words, stroking her hair, but the only thing Morgana can focus on is his death.

Why is she always cursed to see his death?

The clouds above them choose that moment to open up and rain down upon them with heavy showers. Arthur pulls her to her feet. The horses are nowhere to be found. He grabs her discarded cloak, takes her by the hand, and leads her down a well-traveled pathway. She lets him guide her without protests, her hand within his a tight grip, never wanting to let go.

They quickly make it to the shelter of an old, empty house not far from the forest's edge. By the time they make it inside, Morgana is completely drenched and shivering, her dress sodden and almost completely ruined by the trek through the woods. Arthur is no better. She lets her gaze travel across the poor accommodations, taking in the broken furniture and boarded up windows. The house is abandoned.

"We'll get a fire going," Arthur declares, searching nearby for wood. "The rain shouldn't last long, and then we'll look for the horses again."

She stares at him, throat still tight with recent sobs. Her hands are trembling, and she knows it's not from the cold. Her dreams always leave her like this – paralyzed with fear. She does not breach the distance between them. Instead, settling near the firewood, she wraps her arms around herself and tries vainly to fend off the chill. The hard patter of rain outside stays a steady constant.

Morgana does nothing but watch Arthur as he gets a fire going, completely silent, until the scrutiny makes him snap. "What?" he demands, clearly thrown by her strange behavior. "Morgana, speak!"

Her voice is as faint as a whisper. "I saw you die."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "It was just a dream," he dismisses softly. "I'm fine. I'm right here."

She shakes her head and approaches Arthur, kneeling before him near the fire. He looks so young, so beautiful, but the image that haunts her is the one of his corpse. Her eyes sting with unshed tears, and she reaches out to brush a damp strand of hair away from his face.

Without any artful deliberation whatsoever, she tells him the truth. "Listen to me very carefully," she whispers in a shaky voice. "I saw you die in tomorrow's games. I saw a fight, I saw your sword, and then I saw your wound. You will die tomorrow, Arthur Pendragon, unless I do something to stop it."

For a long beat, he's gravely silent. "Morgana, it was just a dream."

"No," she counters firmly. "Arthur, don't you understand? My dreams have never just been dreams." She takes a breath. "I'm gifted with the Sight."

He pulls back abruptly. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm saying."

"You're in shock. You're confused and scared—"

"I'm terrified," she agrees. "But that does not make my words any less true."

Arthur rises to his feet and steps away from her. The expression on his face can only be described as disbelief and fear – for her, of her, she cannot say. In all their years Arthur has never looked at her like this before. He stares at her for a long time, as if assessing Morgana for any shred of truth in her words, and probably praying for exactly the opposite.

Arthur swallows heavily. "Are you saying… are you saying…?"

She nods silently.

"Since when?"

A beat. "Since I can remember."

* * *

Arthur is quiet for a very, very long time.

Eventually, the silence grows to be too much. Her eyes draw to the single cot in the corner. Its mattress is torn and dingy, no blanket to speak of, but it looks welcoming. She stretches out and lies down, gazing into the fire again. Arthur isn't within her line of sight, but she can feel his stare upon her. He sits with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His scabbard and sword rest at his side.

"Why did you never tell me before?"

She keeps her gaze upon the flames. "I was… I was scared, I suppose."

"Of what?"

"Your reaction," she admits. "You are Uther Pendragon's son."

"Morgana, look at me. _Look at me._" She lifts her head, and Arthur looks incredulous and a bit angry, but his words are neither. "I would never allow any harm to come to you. You should know that by now."

"Arthur—"

"These dreams, you have no control over them. This isn't your fault and I won't allow you to be punished for it."

Though the declaration is heartwarming, the way he phrased his response is telling. She's already told him more than she ever intended, and she isn't sure he's ready to handle the fact that Morgana has more powers. Uther has taught him since the cradle to hate magic, and Arthur's independent streak goes only so far. She wraps her arms around herself and suppresses a shiver, staying silent.

"Tomorrow," she says at length. "You shouldn't fight in the games. You'll lose."

Arthur sighs heavily, and his voice is soft, "Don't worry about it. I'm warned now. I'll take extra precautions."

"Like what?"

"I said don't worry about it. I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Tomorrow is different," Morgana persists, and this isn't like any argument they've ever had before. Usually there is stubborn yelling or light flirtation, but this conversation is entirely hushed and intimate in tones. "There's no reason to go forward with the match, Arthur. I know the Games are important, but call it off and—"

"Morgana," he stops her.

They stare at each other, and then her eyes go back to the fire. They've had this conversation before, about Knight Valiant. She thinks, _Arthur. Stupid, stubborn Arthur._ He won't back down from a fight; never will. It's his pride, the same one that keeps Morgana from seeking his counsel regarding her powers. They really are well matched for one another, aren't they?

After a long stretch of silence, Arthur eventually rises and comes to loom over her bed. His eyes hold a question, and after a beat Morgana merely nods. Slowly, she shifts aside and he takes his place on the cot. They spend a few moments rearranging him behind Morgana in the space between her and the wall. He tucks an arm around her waist, bringing their bodies front to back. His breath is steady against her neck, and he smells like the rain.

He shifts again, and time rolls steadily into the night.

* * *

Eventually he moves, propping himself up on one elbow so that he's leaning over her. "The Questing Beast," he murmurs. "That day, you ran down the steps. You foresaw that I was going to be bitten by it?"

She closes her eyes, still troubled by the memory of that nightmare and the long days afterwards when he had taken ill. "Yes, I tried to warn you."

"I remember."

She shakes her head. "I should have done better."

"And Sophia," he whispers, "you warned me about her, too. I didn't listen."

His voice isn't remotely teasing. She looks back at him, studies the misplaced compassion in his gaze, his sharp features, so handsome that they have enthralled an entire kingdom. It's in that very moment that she suddenly realizes that she will love this man like no other. He frustrates her, and provokes her ire, and all too often she would rather strangle him than to speak to him, but she loves him. She is _in love_ with Arthur Pendragon. Foolish child.

Arthur reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from her eyes, and her face almost crumples into tears. He can be so gentle, so caring when he wants to be. This side of him is almost too much, and Morgana turns her head away quickly.

"Morgana," he chides, stubbornly, then lightly tugs her chin to face him. "Do you know what Uther told me yesterday?"

She stiffens in his arms. "What?"

"He spoke to me about the qualities he expects in the future queen. He listed the traits, you see, because God knows he wouldn't expect me to be clever enough to figure them out on my own." He pauses, holding her gaze. "There were things he said she needed: virtue, strength, the conviction to challenge me to do my best, and above all else, an everlasting love for Camelot and its people."

"Arthur," she breathes faintly.

And because she doesn't want him to continue with wherever he's going with this, she pulls him down. Morgana meets his lips halfway, a soft kiss at first that soon gives way to aggressive exploration. It doesn't take much to convince Arthur to abandon his words. His fingers tangle in her curls, he breathes her name against her lips, and she thinks abruptly, _yes, tonight is the night that Arthur Pendragon becomes my lover_.

They are mindful of their limited space, shifting together until he's lying on top of her, his legs on either side of her body. She's not as experienced in this as Arthur, but she knows how to draw a response from him. Her hand falls to his hair, wraps around the nape of his neck to pull him into a heady kiss. He groans weakly against her mouth, but his touch remains gentle. His fingers are light and careful as they trail against her hip, across her stomach, up to the swell of her breasts. She fights against a shiver when he reaches her exposed collarbone and he plays with the string that ties her dress closed.

He is trying to be cautious and reserved, and Morgana decides he doesn't need to be. "Arthur," she declares to him in a whisper. "I want to feel you inside me."

He groans heavily, eyes slipping shut. "I don't… I don't want to force you into anything."

She almost wants to laugh. "When have you ever managed to force me to do anything I didn't want to do?"

She places a trail of kisses across his jaw, and his breathing is ragged, his voice suddenly choked. "Are you… are you sure, Morgana?"

She doesn't answer, simply guides his hand back to her chest, to the string that runs crisscross over the front of her dress. Under her watchful eye, his fingers slowly undo the string, and she sits up, both of them shifting a little on the mattress. She tugs the material off the sides of her shoulders and then down. Arthur's breathing is louder than the pouring rain outside, and he pulls the dress as far as it will go, exposing her upper body.

"You are…" he takes a shuddering breath, and swallows thickly as she lays back down. "I think you may be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She's heard the compliment before in her life, but never from Arthur and certainly never when he's looked at her like this. For once in her life, she allows herself to believe the pretty words for what they are, instead of oft-uttered phrases said so frequently that they have been stripped of any meaning. She tugs him back on top of her, kissing him, heart beating erratically as his hands explore her skin. His palms fill with her breasts, and she grows so wet so quickly, it's almost a little embarrassing.

She's dreamt of this night – _dreamt_ of it, with all the meaning behind it afforded to one with a gift of foresight. She has seen, in her dreams, the way Arthur looks at her with reckless desire in his eyes; she has heard his broken voice breathe her name; she has felt the ghost of his touch many times before. It is another thing entirely to experience all of this for real.

"Morgana," he whispers, and she closes her eyes.

Her dress is still wrapped around her waist, but his heavy body over hers traps it there. He shifts lower, the slow drag of his muscles moving down hers, his mouth hot on her skin until Arthur reaches the bundled material. Morgana lifts her hips, and he slides the dress away, and then her undergarment so that the material pools at their feet. She's nervous, and it seems so strange to be this nervous around Arthur. He still seems so sure of himself.

There's a torturous amount of exploration that follows, as Arthur acquaints himself of her body with the aid of his hands and mouth. Morgana has never particularly been a religious person, but her mind drifts briefly to the old Druid teachings she's been reading about in her small spell book. They believe that sex is an intimate form of worship.

His mouth claims some spot high on her thigh, near her curls, and Morgana releases a small choked sound that is barely recognizable. Heat spreads through her body so fast, so potent, she truly begins to wonder if a spell is at work. When his mouth moves along her inner thigh, her head falls to the mattress and she thinks cheekily that bedding Arthur will clearly be a religious experience entirely within its own right.

And then, suddenly, there is no thought at all. Just blinding pleasure and heat as Arthur's mouth moves over her opening, claiming everything he touches. The roughness of his beard stubble, his mouth, his _tongue_ as he laps at her – Morgana is barely able to silence the wanting sobs in her throat, soon whispering _yes, yes, yes_ in eager desperation. Her hips buck up, head thrashing side to side, but Arthur's strong calloused hands pin her in place while pleasure crests inside her. She is undone under his mouth, a sensation unlike any other she's ever known before.

When she recovers, Arthur kisses her once, hard, and murmurs, "So this is how I make you agreeable?"

The teasing remark goes untested, because Arthur quickly starts to shed himself of his own clothing. Morgana studies the jump of his muscles as he pulls his shirt over his head, exposing a hard chest and strong arms. Her fingers glide over his skin as he removes his breeches, impatience making him move quickly. Before she really has the opportunity to study his hard body in the glow of the fire, Arthur settles in on top, looming over her as he braces hands on either side of the mattress. She can feel the press of his stiff cock against her thigh, and Morgana stares up at him.

"Arthur," she says, "I think now would be a good time to give you that answer."

His lust is replaced for a moment by confusion. "To what question?"

"About before," she answers. "I think we are ready to make this relationship formal to the king."

After a pause, Arthur laughs, his head dropping down to rest against her shoulder. "Do me a favor?" he stutters against her neck. "Never mention my father to me when we are like this, ever again."

"Noted," she replies affectionately. "For future reference."

She grips his shoulder, her nails scratching light across the hard muscles of his back. His amusement turns to a groan, and he tilts his head aside and places kisses along her jaw. Morgana knows now what to expect; pain at first, bittersweet and inevitable, but then pleasure cresting just like before. Her blood will be spilled tonight, but Morgana welcomes it. Needs it. She spreads her legs wide, and feels him slide between her thighs, resting for just one moment.

"My Queen," he breathes, and then pushes inside of her.

* * *

  
**Part V**

"Where were you two?" Uther demands, later that night.

"We were…" Arthur answers, sharing a single sidelong glance with Morgana. "We were caught in the rain."

* * *

She enters Gaius' chambers through the side door, looking for Merlin. She's already confessed once tonight to her powers; desperation makes her seek out another for help. If Arthur is not taking her warnings with the weight it deserves, then Morgana must take precautions herself. Merlin has already proven himself as Arthur's protector more than once, so her first destination is obvious.

What she doesn't expect is for Gaius and Merlin to so easily dismiss her concerns. "It is just a dream, Morgana," Gaius insists kindly. "Like all the others."

She stares at him, and then sweeps her eyes to Merlin. The younger man merely drops his gaze to the floor, unable to maintain eye contact with Morgana for any length of time. She _knows_ they believe her; she _knows_ they are just as concerned to hear about her latest nightmare as she is. What she cannot figure out is why they make such denials.

"Morgana," Gaius continues. "You should be careful to speak of such dreams to anyone but us. Uther—"

"Don't tell me about Uther," Morgana snaps, incredulous. "And I know to be careful. I only came to you two with this information." She looks to Merlin, and waits until he meets her eyes. "I came to _you._"

There is a long stretch of silence, and Merlin's ears grow red. "What can I do?"

He really is a horrible liar; she suspects Gaius is the only reason he's managed to go undetected for so long. Taking a moment to choose her words carefully, Morgana plants her hands on the tabletop and leans forward. "He will not survive the match tomorrow unless there is some sort of intervention." She looks to Merlin, pointedly. "Magical intervention. I know enough, but I could always use help in protecting him. Your help, Merlin."

Merlin swallows heavily, and says, "Oh."

"Yes, I know about your abilities," she answers firmly, taking a breath. "Just as you know about mine."

It isn't the best beginning to finally sharing their secrets, but it certainly isn't the worst either.

* * *

The following day, though the games do not begin until late in the afternoon, the crowds begin to gather outside the castle walls in the early morning. The gnawing fear in her stomach makes Morgana feel ill, but outwardly, she is as calm and collected as she is any other day. She greets the guests as they line up to pay homage to the King and his ward.

Gwen comes up behind her. "Merlin is getting Arthur ready. He's asked for your company."

"Merlin?"

"No," Gwen answers. "Arthur."

Morgana smiles politely at a nobleman who stops before her, her mind only half on the pleasantries exchanged. Once again, the prize of the fight is twofold: honor, and an evening spent with the Lady Morgana on one's arm. She has not yet seen the man from her vision, the one that manages to land a killing blow against Arthur. She only knows the look of the man's armor and his helmet. Nothing more. She isn't even sure if the mortal defeat is designed maliciously or by mere accident. Frustratingly enough, her vision is nothing but a blur.

Beating back a curse, she whispers an excuse to Uther and smiles politely. "Don't be long," Uther chides, giving her a look. "And tell Arthur he should have been down here several minutes ago."

She nods, and makes her escape with Gwen beside her. "Morgana?" Gwen asks. "Is there something I should know? You've been acting strange all day."

Morgana slows down, coming to a halt at the end of the corridor. She regards her servant for a moment, the closest friend she's ever had, and knows she can trust Gwen implicitly with the secret she harbors. She opens her mouth to tell Gwen about the dark vision, but instead, what comes out is, "I slept with Arthur last night."

Gwen stares for a long moment, shocked. "Oh."

Morgana glances down the hallway, where a few servants are arranging garlands for the festivities. She tilts her head aside, and together they start walking down the corridor again, completely silent. Gwen is not naïve when it comes to matters of court romance; she's often the one to learn the gossip long before it reaches Morgana's ears. She knows Arthur's history with women, and now she knows Morgana's ever-so-recent history with Arthur. Morgana doesn't know what reaction she expects from her friend, but she's just praying she won't get a cautionary lecture.

Gwen breaks the silence. "Is this… do you regret it?"

"What?" Morgana responds, thrown. "No, of course not."

Gwen doesn't look convinced. "Forgive me, but you don't seem particularly happy today."

Morgana shakes her head. "That isn't about that, it's about…" she sighs heavily. "I had another dream."

"Oh. _Oh._" Gwen nods. "About Arthur?"

"About his match today," Morgana confirms anxiously. "It isn't good."

"Are your dreams ever?"

They stop again, just outside Arthur's quarters. "Arthur can't see me like this, not before his match. He needs to know I still have full faith in him."

"You do," Gwen replies softly, quickly. "Just take a deep breath, and stay calm."

The gentle acceptance from Gwen eases the anxiety a bit, and Morgana takes a breath and nods her thanks. Together, they both turn and push aside Arthur's doors, to find Merlin reaching for the heavy shield resting on the center table. Arthur stands at the side, near the open window with his back to them. His shoulders look tense, his posture agitated, and just from one look Morgana knows which side of Arthur she is dealing with: the Prince of Camelot, once and future king.

She shares a sidelong glance with Merlin. "I need a moment alone with Arthur."

Merlin pauses, trading looks back and forth between Arthur and Morgana. As he passes her by, he offers a whisper of warning. "He's been tense all day."

She nods her understanding, and waits for Merlin and Gwen to leave. Arthur still has his back to her, looking as if all the weight of the world is on his shoulders. It is not his own welfare that concerns him; she suspects the thing that has kept him up all night was the thought of leaving Camelot without an heir-apparent.

She planted these seeds of doubt; now it is her duty to take them away.

She strides over, lingering just behind him. "Arthur?"

He sighs heavily. "I've been staring at the crowds all morning. People from all walks of life have come here, from all corners of our kingdom. They've come for a good show."

"They'll have one," Morgana responds firmly. "They'll have their champion, too."

He turns around, surprised. "I thought you said I would fail today?"

"That was before I remembered something."

"What?"

"Your stubbornness," she answers swiftly. "It is not possible that you will let another person win in a fair fight against you. I speak from experience, of course. But then again, our quarrels have never been on even ground."

Amusement softens his face. "And what disadvantage is there between us?"

"I'm gifted with far more intelligence than you, of course."

He offers her a laugh, then quickly tugs her towards him for a kiss. The instant intensity of his embrace makes her knees weak, heat building in her body as she wraps her arms around his neck. His kiss is possessive and aggressive, and she thinks he's trying valiantly to assure himself of something. Her presence. His forthcoming victory. She cannot tell what, but Morgana knows enough to respond to his kiss. As if she has ever resisted.

She pulls back, and lets her hands fall so they cover his armor, the cool metal breastplate beneath her fingers. So much protection, and it's still not enough.

"I have a hundred and one worries," he admits, "but I can't stop thinking about last night."

She smiles, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Why?" she muses. "When you could always be thinking about _tonight_ instead?"

He groans, and she laughs, and he pulls her tight against his chest. "I was thinking," Arthur begins, hesitantly after a beat. "Tonight, during the feast, we could tell Uther about us."

Morgana smiles. Slowly, she pulls back to retrieve the small red scarf tucked up her sleeve, and reaches out to tie it around his belt so that all can see her token of favor. "I want your mind on the games, and nothing else," she tells him. "That'll be a conversation for another day."

After a pause, he nods. "Then save me a dance?"

"Always, My Lord."

* * *

As the Games begin, Arthur fights in a series of duels, set to culminate in one final match that will declare the champion. Over twenty noblemen participate, and Morgana can barely tell one from another. In her dreams, it's all a blur. She sees Arthur's adversary as nothing but a masked opponent, a tiger etched on his shield. It isn't until very late in the evening that Morgana finally spots him among the crowd.

"That's him," she whispers urgently, clutching Gwen's arm tightly. "Quickly get word to Merlin!"

The nobleman named Accolon, from Orkney, with his familiar shield, fast comes up the ranks of contenders. Still, as she observes him over the course of the day and pays special attention to his skills, she cannot find anything particularly impressive about him. Arthur is twice the swordsman he is, and that isn't just her bias talking.

The Games continue, the crowds cheer, and night falls over Camelot.

That is when she hears it: _Morgana Le Fay_, a voice whispers in her head, and she turns to find the old blind woman – the one that gifted Morgana with her spell book – standing amongst the crowd. _It is time. Your people need you._

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Morgana demands of the woman, when they finally reach an isolated spot behind the arena. In the distance, she can hear the roar of the cheering crowds, intensely aware that Arthur will be taking his place now, set to face off against Accolon in the next round of matches. Anxious, she repeats her demand to the old woman. "Speak! What are you doing here?"

"Destiny," comes the answer, cold and snarling. The woman snatches Morgana's wrist quickly, opening her palm. "I am to make sure that you fulfill yours, and the boy-King never reaches his."

Morgana grows pale. "What?"

Strangely, the blind woman studies Morgana's open palm. "You have been gaining power. Good, good. Yes, we need you strong. We need you at your best."

She snatches her hand away. "What are you talking about?"

"Tonight, Arthur Pendragon dies," the woman declares coldly. "With his death, a new era will be ushered in. With you, My Lady, as our guide."

Fury takes over her. "What madness is this?"

"Not madness," The blind woman sneers, face contorted with anger. "The House of Pendragon must burn. All of it!"

Behind them, the trumpets blare and the distant throngs of people burst into applause. Morgana realizes that the match has begun, and she is missing it. She turns back to the old woman before her, who's blind and half-crippled with age. The decrepit lady can barely stand on her own two feet, but Morgana can sense power from her. Deep, strong magic. It is not Accolon that Arthur needs to worry about; it is this witch and her sorcery.

The woman laughs, reading Morgana's fear. "Oh child, I am even doing you a favor. Is it love? Foolish love? Do you have your heart set on being Queen? Morgana Le Fay, they call you. In the books, in the history yet to come. And Morgana Le Fay is never meant to be Queen."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I will let no harm come to Arthur!"

"If it is not me tonight, then it will be you tomorrow. You are not destined to be Queen. You are meant to save our people."

Morgana surges forward, angrily. "Stop whatever spell you have placed on Accolon, or I swear by all the power within me that I will end your life."

The old lady smiles. "Foolish child, you may have power, but you know nothing of the arts. You cannot stop me."

Morgana's eyes dim gold. "Watch me."

* * *

The people of Camelot are on their feet, cheering as loudly as Morgana has ever heard it before. As she stumbles back to the arena, she takes a moment to cover up the dark and ugly wound on her arm – thankfully the only lasting harm Morgana suffered at the hands of the old witch.

The old witch, on the other hand, is not as fortuitous. Her body lays slain in the empty ally behind the arena. It will be found before dawn, but no one will suspect foul play in the death of such an elderly woman. And even if they do, no one would dare raise claims against the King's ward. She feels ill, fatigued, but this is not the first time she has taken a life to defend the things most precious to her.

"Morgana!" Gwen calls from across the benches. "You missed it entirely! Arthur won! He's been declared champion!"

Morgana gives a relieved smile, still pale and trembling from her recent skirmish. Never before has she used such potent magic, not even against the Beasts of Bodmin. Tonight, she has glimpsed just a sliver of the full force of her powers. Though it has left her drained and weak, Arthur lives to see another day. Still, a thread of fear is born. So much power. Maybe enough to even rival Merlin one day. She had no idea she was capable of that.

Merlin comes up behind her. "Where were you?"

"It doesn't matter," Morgana answers. "Look."

She points to Arthur in the center of the ring. The mob cheers for him like he is their savior, and Morgana stands silent watch for a moment. The old witch's words come to mind despite herself. _Morgana Le Fay, they call you. In the books, in the history yet to come. And Morgana Le Fay is never meant to be Queen._

Arthur turns to Morgana and lifts his sword in the air, gazes locked, and as the crowd goes wild, she feels a cool sense of purpose rush over her. A more frustrating man she could not find, but he is still the best man she knows by a mile. Better than Uther in so many different ways. Morgana can already see the king that Camelot deserves emerging within him. He just needs a push in the right direction, and lately Morgana has been casting herself as a catalyst.

Damn the consequences, she thinks. Damn what everyone else thinks. She is Morgana Le Fay. She will defy destiny and expectations alike.

Let that be her lasting legacy.

* * *

  
fin 


End file.
